Dinner with Aunt Phoebe
by Susan M. M
Summary: While looking for the Master's daughter, Max and McAllister stop to rescue a pretty college co-ed. Can Phoebe Figalilly Everett's uncanny gifts help find Teri? And does anyone know why this website erases hyphens and dashes every time I try to type them?
1. Rescuing a Damsel in Distress

**Dinner with Aunt Phoebe**

**Standard Fanfic Disclaimer **that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law These aren't my characters. I'm just borrowing them for, um, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. They will be returned to their original owners undamaged (or at least suitably bandaged) when the story is done. Amateur work of fiction, no profit made from this beyond my pleasure in writing and hopefully your pleasure in reading. Originally published in the fanzine Of Dreams and Schemes #25.

**Dinner with Aunt Phoebe**

_The Master/Nanny and the Professor_

Susan M. M.

**Southern California, 1984**

Max Keller glanced at the gas gauge. His van was practically running on fumes. "Keep your eyes open for a gas station, old-timer," the curly-haired young man told his travelling companion. "We need to fuel up."

John Peter McAllister nodded. He was old enough to be Max's grandfather and looked it but was surprisingly spry for a man his age. The top of his head was bald. White hair covered the sides.

"Henry, you keep your eyes open, too," Max joked.

Henry ignored Max. The brown and white hamster continued running in his wheel, in a cage securely welded to the dashboard.

A few minutes later, McAllister announced, "There's one." He pointed to the right.

Max nudged his turn signal on and pulled into the gas station. "Nearly dinner time," Max observed as he parked the van. "Did you want me to see if they have sandwiches or anything inside? Or did you want to get fast food?" He jutted his chin at a Del Taco sign just down the road.

McAllister's cobalt blue eyes lost their sparkle. He knew Max loved Del Taco, the only taco chain that sold milk shakes, but the food was too greasy for him. "We've had an awful lot of fast food lately. Do you suppose this town has a Japanese restaurant?"

"Got a craving for home cooking, huh?" Max teased. McAllister had gone to Japan with the Army Air Corps in 1945, and stayed. "I can ask inside. College towns tend to have a lot of restaurants."

Max and McAllister both got out of the van. Max went in to pay for the gas and ask questions. McAllister just wanted to stretch his legs. He was in remarkably good shape for his age, but after several hours' driving, he was saddle-sore. Right now, he felt every one of his sixty-plus years.

It was the sort of day southern California tried to get the rest of the world to believe they had all the time: 75 F, blue sky, giant white cumulus clouds. A gentle breeze ruffled McAllister's white hair. It carried the scent of some flower pink hawthorn, perhaps, or natal plum, that covered the smell of the petroleum.

Max came out and started pumping gas. "Sorry, he doesn't know of any Japanese restaurants close by. There's a mall a mile or two away. The food court has a Chinese food kiosk. A greasy chopstick joint sandwiched in between Hot Dog on a Stick and Great Gyros."

McAllister frowned. That wasn't quite what he had in mind.

Max flashed a smile at the pretty co-ed gassing up her motorcycle at the pump across from theirs. At least, McAllister assumed she was pretty, since Max was smiling at her, although a pink helmet hid her face. And he assumed she was a co-ed, since she wore a denim jacket with 'Clinton College' embroidered on the back. He glanced at her bike, then raised a bushy white eyebrow. If he wasn't mistaken, that was an old Indian Scout, either meticulously preserved or else painstakingly restored. He'd had one like it … before World War II.

Three more motorcycles drove up to the pump behind hers. Their riders were big, beefy men, clad in leather jackets bearing the name Broncos. None of them had bothered with helmets, and all three of them could have used a trip to the barber shop.

"Hey, pretty lady," the redhaired biker greeted her.

The girl said nothing.

"That's a big bike for such a little girl," commented the shortest of the three. He was a stocky fellow with uncombed brown hair and a scraggly brown beard.

Ignoring him, she hung the hose back up on the gas pump.

"What's the matter, college girl, too good to talk to us?" asked the third. A scar decorated his unwashed face.

"Maybe we should show her what it's like on a real bike." Shorty revved his Harley.

"With a real man," Carrot-top added.

"If I see a real man, I'll keep that in mind," she retorted.

Max looked up from fueling the van. Her voice was familiar very familiar.

Scarface dismounted from his motorcycle. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "You dissing us?" Suddenly Scarface felt a hand on his wrist. He turned to see an old man beside him, holding on to him.

"Her mother told her not to speak to strangers," McAllister admonished him.

"Mind your own business, grandpa." Scarface tried to shake the white-haired geezer off, but the old man had a grip like a vise.

Max stopped pumping gas. He strode over to join his friend. "We're making it our business."

Shorty and Carrot-top approached, ready to back up their buddy.

"You and what army?" Shorty demanded.

"Three against three. Looks fair to me, huh, Max?" the girl asked.

Max smiled. He recognized her now. "Right, Pru."

McAllister raised one white eyebrow, but decided to wait for later to ask for an introduction. He squeezed Scarface's wrist.

The biker was forced to his knees. He let go of Pru's arm. She kicked him in the thigh.

Carrot-top rushed toward Max, swinging wildly. Max avoided the blow easily, ducking and weaving. Shorty hurried toward Max, ready to double up on him.

McAllister reached out a foot and tripped Shorty. As he started to tumble down, McAllister grabbed his arm and used his own momentum to throw him down hard.

Scarface struggled to his feet. Pru kneed him in his nether-regions. He sunk down again.

"The next time a lady isn't interested, learn to take 'no' for an answer," McAllister advised them.

Carrot-top was still trying to hit Max, and failing. "You can't treat the Broncos like that."

Shorty scrambled to his feet. "Got news for you, bro. They just did." He held his hand in front of him, palms outward. If not a gesture of surrender, 'twas at least a sign of a reluctant cease-fire. He called to his pals, "Let's go."

Warily, Scarface rose, carefully watching Pru as he did so. He backed away from her slowly.

"But," Carrot-top began.

Max spun and kicked him in the stomach with a karate kick. "Check out, Jack," he murmured under his breath.

Shorty looked from Max to Carrot-top. "He deserved it for being stupid." Shorty and Scarface each took the redhead by one arm and limped back to their motorcycles.

Pru waited until the three had ridden off before hugging Max. "Max, you were terrific! Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Max grinned. "I've been practicing. You weren't so bad yourself, coz. Mas." He stopped himself. He never addressed McAllister as 'Master' in public, and damned seldom in private, although he thought of him that way. "McAllister. John Peter McAllister. Taught me everything I know. My cousin, Prudence Everett."

She pulled off her helmet, revealing a very pretty blonde teenager. "Any friend of Max's is a friend of mine. Especially one who can kick butt like that." Her blue eyes were wide with admiration.

"Kick butt? What would Aunt Phoebe say if she heard you talking like that?"

"Mum's heard worse."

"Not from you," Max retorted.

Prudence discreetly didn't respond to that. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving your a ." He stopped himself mid-word.

"Hah! You make a fuss over me saying 'butt', but you nearly said 'ass'."

McAllister chuckled softly as the cousins squabbled like children half their age. The sound reminded them that they had a witness.

"What are you doing in town? Can you come over to the house?" Prudence invited. "Mum and Dad would love to see you."

Max shook his head. "I'd love to, but we're just passing through."

His stomach chose that moment to rumble.

"You've at least got to come for dinner," Prudence insisted.

"We wouldn't want to impose," McAllister said.

"It's no imposition. You saved me from those dorks. I owe you."

"Aunt Phoebe's a great cook," Max added. "And we were about to look for someplace to eat anyway."

"If you're sure your parents won't mind us dropping in," McAllister agreed.

"Mum never lets anyone go away hungry," Prudence assured him. She turned to Max. "You remember how to get to our house?"

"I think so."

"Just follow me. And if we get separated in traffic, it's 10327 Oak Street." She hugged Max again, pulled on her helmet, and climbed on her bike.

**Background Info**

_Nanny and the Professor_ was on from 1970 to 1972. It was never clearly started that Phoebe Figalilly was a supernatural being, but it was strongly hinted. She showed up at the professor's door, uninvited and unexpected, right after his children had scared off yet another housekeeper. She would say "That's Mrs. Johnson, I'll get it" before the phone rang. Her weather predictions were infallible, and like Dr. Doolittle, she talked to animals. She knew people's names before they were introduced. Odd things happened around her. Although the widowed professor dated various women, and Nanny almost got married to someone else once, both had eyes. Both were aware that the other was an attractive member of the opposite sex. Most _N&tP_ fans assumed that Nanny and Professor Everett would eventually get married.

_The Master_ was on in 1984. John Peter McAllister was always fascinated by the legends of the _ninja_, so after he came to Japan in WWII, he never left. He stayed, and became the first occidental American to become a _ninja_ master. He left the sect when he learned two important things: 1, He had a daughter, who was in desperate trouble and needed his help. 2, Some of his students, led by his former prize pupil, Okasa, had gone back to the ancient ways of _ninjitsu_ assassination for hire. McAllister is trying to avoid Okasa, who is trying to kill him, and find his daughter, Teri. He is assisted by a young drifter, Max Keller.


	2. At the Everett Home

"Mum never lets anyone go away hungry," Prudence assured him. She turned to Max. "You remember how to get to our house?"

"I think so."

"Just follow me. And if we get separated in traffic, it's 10327 Oak Street." She hugged Max again, pulled on her helmet, and climbed on her bike.

"Quite a young lady, your cousin," McAllister observed as he and Max got back in the van. "Is she a close relative?" Max didn't talk about his family much. McAllister only knew that he was estranged from his father, and his mother and brother were dead.

Max nodded. "We're first cousins. Aunt Mary was Mom's older sister."

"Aunt Mary? I thought you said Aunt Phoebe."

"Aunt Phoebe's actually Pru's stepmother. Aunt Mary died when Prudence was three or four, and," Max did some mental arithmetic, "and she's eighteen, no, nineteen now. I don't think she really remembers her much anymore. Aunt Phoebe's been the only mother she's really known since she was five or six."

"Given the 'Mum', I assume she's English?" Ahead of them, Prudence turned. McAllister gestured to the right. "Right turn here."

"Yeah, but her accent has mostly faded after so long in the States. She was nanny to Prudence and her brothers for a few years, and then she and Uncle Harold got married." Max flipped on the turn signal and turned the wheel. "I s'pose technically the two youngest cousins aren't actually my cousins, but we've always thought of all five of them as family."

"Five?"

"Uh-huh. Pru has two older brothers. Hal is a year older than I am, and Butch is two or three years younger. It's really Bentley, but he hates it when you call him that," Max confided. "Then after Uncle Harold married Aunt Phoebe, they had two more kids, a girl and a boy."

McAllister nodded as he absorbed the information. "Max?"

"Yes?"

"It might be best if we didn't mention to your relatives that I'm a _ninja_."

"Yeah. Good point." Max didn't think Uncle Harold and Aunt Phoebe would react well to learning that he was now an apprentice_ ninja_.

* * *

Professor Harold Everett stepped into his kitchen. He sniffed appreciatively. "Smells delicious," he told his wife. The professor was a tall, muscular man, dark-haired except for the bit of white at the temples. Although there was no disguising the fact he was past fifty, he looked good for his age.

Phoebe Figalilly Everett turned and kissed him. She was a honey blonde, several inches shorter than her husband. "Hello, darling. How did the faculty meeting go?"

"A complete and total waste of time – a great deal of talking, but very little said. I don't know how they ever talked me into being department chair." The professor raised an eyebrow at the size of the pot on the rangetop. It was the big one, the one normally reserved for transforming the turkey carcass into soup the day after Thanksgiving. Taking a floral pot holder, he carefully lifted the lid and peeked inside.

A truly humungous pot roast simmered in the pot. The huge chunk of beef was surrounded by carrots, potatoes, and turnips.

Professor Everett glanced from the gigantic piece of meat to his wife. "Were you planning tacos for tomorrow?"

When Phoebe had first come to California as his children's nanny, the Englishwoman had experimented with Mexican cooking, giving it a uniquely British twist. She'd discovered that leftover pot roast, when shredded and simmered in Mexican spices, made a better taco filling than ground beef or refried beans. Perhaps, the professor mused, she was simply cooking two days' worth of food at one time.

"No, I thought fish and chips for tomorrow. The grocery store had cod at a very nice price," she explained.

Professor Everett glanced again at the pot roast. "Then why – "

"Amaryllis! Would you set the table, please?" Phoebe called.

"Yes, Mum," Amaryllis called back. A minute later an eight-year-old blonde trotted into the kitchen. She dismounted from her stick horse and carefully set the battered toy (inherited from her older brothers and sister, and somewhat the worse for years of hard but loving wear) aside.

As her daughter opened the silverware drawer and began gathering knives and forks, Phoebe instructed, "Set two extra places, darling. We're having company for dinner."

"We are?" the professor asked. He shook his head. He suppressed a sigh. After nine years of marriage and five years as her employer, nothing Phoebe Figalilly Everett said or did should surprise him anymore. He ought to be used to her uncanny ways by now. He wondered who, but didn't bother asking. With Phoebe, it could be anyone. Young Charlie Eppes and his mother … although he didn't remember having a tutoring session scheduled for the child prodigy. Two homeless men she'd seen in the park and felt sorry for. Prince Charles and Princess Di. Aunt Justine and Aunt Agatha, coming down in the backyard by balloon again. He peeked through the window to see if there was a hot air balloon descending.

"Pru back," a small voice announced.

"Prudence is back," Phoebe corrected her son automatically.

"Pru back," Charles Figalilly Everett repeated.

A moment later, the professor heard his daughter's motorcycle pull up in the driveway. He reached down and scooped up the three-year-old into his arms. "Yes, Charlie, Prudence is back."

Charlie was the only one of the professor's five children to inherit his dark hair. He had also inherited his mother's gifts.


	3. More Turnips, Mr McAllister?

Professor Everett carried his youngest to the living room. The front door opened before he could reach it. Prudence stepped in, followed by a familiar young man and an elderly stranger.

"Hey, Dad, guess who I ran into at the gas station!" Prudence called out.

"Max!" The professor smiled at his nephew.

"Hi, Uncle Harold. Hey, Charlie, the last time I saw you, you were just learning how to walk."

"Is it okay if they stay for dinner?" asked Prudence.

"Your mother already told your sister to set two extra places at the table, and she made enough for an army. I guess she was expecting them."

One white eyebrow rose on McAllister's weathered face.

"Uncle Harold, this is my teacher, John Peter McAllister. Professor Harold Everett," Max introduced. "And my cousin, Charlie."

The two men shook hands.

"Max, darling, I thought I heard your voice." Phoebe came into the living room, Amaryllis tagging along behind her. She walked up to Max and presented her cheek for kissing. He obliged her.

"Aunt Phoebe, John McAllister."

McAllister took her hand and kissed it. "Mrs. Everett."

She smiled, but did not appear in the least flustered or overwhelmed by the gesture. She accepted it matter of factly, as if she'd been receiving such courtesies since she left the schoolroom. Perhaps, given the birth date listed on her passport, she had. ******

"And my other cousin, Amaryllis," Max continued.

McAllister nodded politely.

"Hullo," the girl said shyly, a very slight British accent coloring her vowels.

"Max, you are not taking Henry to the table," Phoebe informed him. Upon hearing his name, the hamster poked his head up out of Max's shirt pocket. "Amaryllis, see if you can find an old cage or terrarium for him."

"Shouldn't be a problem," the professor muttered under his breath. Over the years, his offspring had collected a veritable menagerie: dogs, cats, gerbils, guinea pigs, goats, snakes, chickens, and finches. Finding a cage whose previous inhabitant had gone to the Great Pet Shop in the Sky should be fairly easy.

"I didn't want to just leave him in the car," Max explained.

"Of course not," she agreed. "Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. You just have time to wash up. Max, show Mr. McAllister where the lavatory is, will you?"

"Yes, Aunt Phoebe."

* * *

The professor poured four glasses of red wine for the adults, while his wife poured milk for Prudence, Amaryllis, and Charlie.

Prudence pointed out, "I am nineteen now, Dad."

"And when you're twenty-one, you may have wine. Until then, milk, water, or soda," her father asserted.

"I must be the only student on campus without a fake ID," Prudence muttered.

"The problem of being a professor's daughter," Professor Everett commiserated. "Everyone knows who you are." He sat down.

"What do you teach?" McAllister inquired politely.

"Mathematics." The professor helped himself to a good-sized chunk of meat, then spooned some vegetables onto his plate.

"And did I hear Max say that you were also a teacher?" Phoebe asked.

"He's my _sensei_," Max replied.

"_Sensei_?" Amaryllis repeated.

"A martial arts instructor," her mother clarified.

"My goal is teaching discipline. Martial arts is merely the method by which I attempt to achieve that goal," the old man explained. He took a bite of pot roast. "Delicious."

"He's trying to un-wild me," Max translated.

"Civilizing Max is a job in and of itself," the professor teased.

His blue eyes twinkling, McAllister agreed, "Let's just say he's been one of my more challenging students."

"What is this, pick on Max day? How are the boys doing?" Max changed the subject. He cut his meat. It was so tender he probably could have used just his fork instead of his knife, but he wouldn't have dared using anything other than his best table manners in front of Aunt Phoebe, any more than he would have dared saying 'ain't' in front of her.

"Very well," she said with maternal pride. "Hal is at MIT, doing his post-doctoral research."

"Astrophysics," the professor added.

"And Lieutenant Butch," she pronounced it 'leftenent' in the British style, "is at March Air Force Base in Riverside. Close enough for him to come visit when he has a weekend pass."

"What about you, Pru? Have you picked a major yet or are you still undeclared?" Max asked. Before he had dropped out of college, that had been his major. He knew the largest major on most college campuses was 'undeclared.'

Prudence finished chewing a mouthful of carrot before replying, "I'm a TCF major."

"TCF?" McAllister repeated.

"Telecommunications and film," the young blonde said.

The clarification didn't clear things up for McAllister; he still had no idea what Prudence was talking about. Hiding his confusion, he asked, "And how are you liking that?"

"Oh, it's great," she replied.

"Gonna be the next Spielberg?" Max asked. He speared a chunk of potato with his fork.

Prudence shook her head. "I'm more interested in the TV end of things."

"Think Walter Cronkite rather than Leni Riefenstahl," her father advised his guests.

"Think Mary Richards on _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_," Prudence countered. "Behind the scenes, not in front of the camera."

Having lived in Japan for the past forty years, McAllister wasn't familiar with _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_.

"So what brings you to town?" Professor Everett asked. "Do you have time to stay after dinner and visit a bit? Or do you need to eat and run?"

Max glanced at his _sensei_. Finding Teri was McAllister's quest; it was up to him to set the conditions and schedule. Max was just the chauffeur.

"You can stay in Hal and Butch's old room," Phoebe offered, "if you don't mind sharing."

McAllister nodded his consent. "We can spare a few hours. You haven't seen your family in a while." And staying in Max's cousins' room would save them the expense of a motel room, or the discomfort of sleeping in the van.

"You haven't seen yours in longer," Max countered uncertainly. His tentative tone made it clear he was perfectly willing to be overruled. He wanted to spend some time with his relatives, but finding Teri was more important.

"A few hours won't make a major difference," McAllister assured his student. He turned back to Max's uncle. "I'm in California on family business. I'm trying to catch up with my daughter."

He didn't bother mentioning that he had never met Teri, nor that he had been unaware of her existence until a few months ago, when she sent a letter to Japan begging for help. He was afraid it would embarrass Max's aunt if he admitted that he and Teri's mother had never been married. Instead, he turned the conversation with a question about Max's childhood.

Prudence gleefully started tattling about some mischief Hal, Butch, Max, and his brother Jimmy had gotten into over a decade ago. Max started offering extenuating circumstances. Reminisces flew like arrows. Amaryllis listened with delight to the high jinks of her half-brothers and cousins from before she was born. McAllister smiled; it was the first time he'd heard Max speak of Jimmy without grief in his voice.

"More, please," Charlie asked.

Phoebe cut some more meat for him. She scooped up some vegetables and cut them into bite size pieces before placing them on Charlie's plate.

"Thank you, Mummy." Charlie glanced out the window. The light was beginning to fade, but the sky was still clear. "Brolly," he declared.

"Quite right," Phoebe told her son. "Cousin Max and his friend will need an umbrella. You will be careful on the wet roads, won't you, dear?"

"There's no rain forecast," McAllister protested.

"Not here, no," she agreed. "But they are expecting rain in Crestridge tomorrow."

"What's in Crestridge?" Amaryllis asked.

"That's where Teri is," Phoebe explained nonchalantly.

McAllister looked up, stunned. He hadn't mentioned his daughter's name.

"More turnips, Mr. McAllister?" Phoebe asked.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As a _Master _story, the ending is admittedly unsatisfactory. However, it is a typical ending to a _Nanny and the Professor_ story. The fact that it sets things up for Max and the Master to go to Crestridge, CA next, home of Matthew Star and his guardian Walter Shepherd is pure coincidence. Okay, maybe impure coincidence.

* * *

**** **According to her passport, which the children found in the episode _How Many Candles?, _Phoebe Figalilly was born April 18, 1864 in Macau, China


End file.
